Vermin? You sure?
by Beboots
Summary: Well. . . *stares blankly at the screen, trying to think of a summary* Not much to say; it's all explained in the first chapter. It takes place near the end of 'Taggerung'. Please read. ^^
1. Long Explanations

Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing. . . no characters, no places, no nothing! *in a quiet voice* Don't sue!  
  
~Now then, this is a Redwall (specifically, Taggerung)/ Welkin Weasel crossover. As many of my readers haven't read the Welkin Weasel series, I've decided to put a mini-glossary of characters and terms so everybody can read and enjoy my fic. ^^ I will add more on other chapters as needed. If you have already read one of the Welkin Weasel books, you can just skip this chapter. ~  
  
Glossary of characters:  
  
Sylver: Male weasel of the band. Leader of the band of weasels of Halfmoon wood. Has a white mark on his muzzle that seems to be a lightning bolt.  
  
Bryony: Female weasel of the band, doesn't eat meat.  
  
Alysoun (the fleet): Female weasel of the band, is the fastest runner.  
  
Mawk (the doubter): Male weasel of the band, is a bit of a coward, and dislikes any action or making any decisions. Enjoys playing Hollyhockers (A gambling game), although he isn't very good at it.  
  
Luke: Male weasel of the band, is their priest. One of the most learned of all the weasels.  
  
Wodehed: Male weasel of the band. Is the magician. He can do minor magic, although it almost always goes wrong. Also the healer.  
  
Miniver: Female weasel of the band. Is a finger weasel, and the smallest.  
  
Scirf: Male weasel of the band. Is extremely scruffy and un-hygienic. Doesn't like water. One of the most recent members of the band, used to watch over a dung-heap. Enjoys using the words 'Squire' and 'Chief' to address others.  
  
Glossary of words:  
  
Groats: Form of currency.  
  
Jills: Term for 'female', can mean 'girl' or 'woman'.  
  
Jacks: Term for 'male', can mean 'boy' or 'man'.  
  
Muslid: Term referring to either Stoats, Weasels, Ferrets, Pine Martins, etc. Same idea as Redwall's 'vermin' or 'woodlanders'.  
  
Welkin: The island inhabited by the Mustlids.  
  
Note on a bunch of terms: In Welkin, they do not at any time use the words 'hands', 'feet', or 'arms'. They use 'paws', 'footpaws' and 'forelimbs'. This also applies to other words, like instead of 'handy' it's 'paw-y', and instead of armchair, its 'forelimb chair'. This also applies to terms like 'manholes', known as 'jackholes'.  
  
Now then, a brief summary of exactly what Welkin is:  
  
Long ago, humans inhabited the island of Welkin. There was a king and a queen, who split the island in half. They feuded, and eventually they decided, for the best of all the people, to leave and start life anew in another place. So, they built many boats and set of for a group of magical islands.  
  
But, the children didn't want to leave, so they left clues for anyone to follow if they could, to bring them back. They landed on one named Dorma, which was home to many flowers which released a potent pollen which made the breather fall into a deep sleep, never aging, never waking up until the fumes are dispersed.  
  
This was many generations ago. No living muslid could remember a time where there where humans, although there where many living statues of them, so they did not fade from memory.  
  
The larger and more powerful Stoats became the upper classes; the smaller weasels only fit for servants and near-slaves, often miss-treated and ill- fed.  
  
One group of weasels, an outlaw band led by the weasel Sylver, began to resist the Stoat oppressors. They reside in Halfmoon wood, and are aided by the kindly, but forgetful, old Stoat, Lord Haukin of Country Elleswhere.  
  
Little note on the 'woodlanders' of Welkin: Things are a bit different on this island, yes, there are hedgehogs, otters, squirrels, moles (Although they don't speak molespeach! *is shocked*), and several types of shrew (some being intelligent, some being more guard-dog like).  
  
Any rodents, however, such as mice, are beasts of burden, and are no more intelligent than say a worm would be in Redwall. They are even eaten! Mouse steak and Vole sausages are regular parts of the menu! It took some getting used to; let me tell you, while I was reading the books. O_o  
~All right, that's a long enough explanation. . . I think. I'll add in more at the end of chapters if some things need clarifying. Anyway, please enjoy the story!~ 


	2. Darts, Not Arrows

~Voila! Chapter One of my little fic. Please enjoy and give me feedback!~  
Tagg sighed and decided to face the facts; he was lost. For the first time in his life, he had no idea where he was. Just as well that Nimbalo was there with him; the harvest mouse would no doubt make fun of him later.  
  
The two friends had been hiding about Redwall, picking off Eefera and Vallug's so-called sentries. Tagg snorted to himself. None of them would be able to hear an insane badger, let alone two woodlanders.  
  
So far, the two friends had disposed of both Rawback and Dagrab. In killing the latter, Nimbalo had 'repossessed', as he put it, his father's battleaxe, and was carrying it with pride.  
  
The friendly woods of Mossflower seemed to have all but disappeared. . . there where many more pines than Tagg remembered, and the trees had lost their friendly feel.  
  
The otter sighed again and faced his friend. "Face it, mate. . . we're lost." Nimbalo looked up at the otter.  
  
"You don't say?" He said sarcastically. "I realized we was lost 'alf an 'our ago!" The harvest mouse bragged.  
  
"Well then, oh handsome golden one," Tagg still enjoyed calling his friend this, Nimbalo's face when he heard was priceless. "Do you know where we are?" the otter said pointedly.  
  
The harvest mouse sagged exaggeratingly. "Not really," he admitted.  
  
"All right then, mate, I'll go leftish, you go t'the right. Stay within shoutin' distance, though. We're bound t'find sommat familiar 'round 'ere." The friends nodded resolutely and set out in different directions.  
  
The otter hadn't been walking for more than a few minutes when Nimbalo's scream pierced the air. The otter ran quickly and silently through the trees towards where the sound had come from; a small clearing.  
  
In the space between two trees, Tagg observed the scene. Nimbalo lay on the ground with what looked like three arrows* in his chest. The otter could see his friend breathing however, so he was a bit relieved at that. The harvest mouse's battleaxe lay on the ground, a few paw-paces away from where Tagg now stood.  
  
To the otter's horror, four weasels where walking towards his friend, in loose half-circle, daggers in hand. They had no tattoos, not Juska, although one did have a curious white mark across his muzzle.  
  
Taking a quick course of action, the otter drew Sawney's Rath's blade from his belt and threw it so it imbedded itself handle-deep in front of the marked weasel's paws; between it and Nimbalo.  
  
Moments after, the otter grabbed Nimbalo's battleaxe from where it lay and flipped into the air, landing with his friend at his back, the four weasels facing him.  
  
"Not one pawstep closer, mates." Tagg said in a menacingly low voice, brandishing the battleaxe.  
  
"Oi!" one weasel with a patchy coat said. "That's our meal, we's caught 't fair 'n' square!"  
  
Tagg snarled, his tattoos rippling, making his face look quite barbaric. "An' 'es also my friend. Back off!"  
  
"You can't be friends with a beast of burden. . . can you?" One weasel spoke, hesitantly.  
  
"Beast of burden?" Cried the otter. "'Es an intelligent being! 'Es no slave!"  
  
"Been too long alone, I'd say, chief," whispered the scruffy-looking weasel into the marked one's ear.  
  
"I 'eard that remark, vermin." Snarled Tagg.  
  
"I apologize," the marked weasel said calmly. "We did not know that the mouse belonged to you." The otter's eyes widened. "'Es owned by nobeast, save 'imself, perhaps. I'm no slaver."  
  
The scruffy-looking weasel glanced at him, as if to say he thought that Tagg was insane. The otter in question carefully gathered up Nimbalo in his fore-limbs and picked up the blade in the earth, never taking his eyes off the weasel's, and began to back away.  
  
Before he left the clearing, the tattooed otter growled a warning. "Don't follow us, vermin."  
  
Although all the weasels had excellent senses, the otter seemed to literally disappear; fade into the woodlands as he left.  
*The weasels of Sylver's band don't use bows; they use oversized darts.  
  
~All right. . . what did you think? I'm going to put up the next chapter within a day or two. . . maybe even later tonight. Please, please tell me what you think of it. Oh, and in case you where wondering, the four weasels where Sylver, Scirf, Mawk-the-doubter and Alysoun.~ 


	3. Throat Tickling

~Yay! I got two reviews! *is very pleased with herself* Anyways, here's another chapter!~  
As soon as the otter left, the marked weasel turned to the scruffy one for his opinion.  
  
"What do you make of them, Scirf?"  
  
"Well," the weasel thought for a moment. "I don't think that 'es from 'round here; 'e had a different accent than most otters. And those terms he used, squire. . . anybeast, and vermin." The weasel puffed up his chest. "We're respectable mustlids! I don't quite know what t'make of 'im, squire."  
  
The marked weasel nodded and asked the nervous-looking weasel, "Mawk, what do you think of him?"  
  
The weasel in question shifted from footpaw to footpaw. "I dunno, Sylver. All I know is that I think he very well could have killed us, judging by the expression on his face. . . but he didn't. I dunno why."  
  
Sylver nodded again and spoke to the last weasel. "Alysoun, I want you to follow that otter, best you can. I want to know what he's doing here. We'll head back to camp to get the others. . . try to leave a trail for us to follow. Oh, and don't let yourself be seen!"  
  
"Aye, aye, Sylver!" With a cheeky grin, Alysoun was gone, quickly following the unknown otter.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Tagg had run swiftly for almost half an hour, until he judged that he was safely away from the weasels. The otter then found a clearing that would serve as a camp, making a small fire.  
  
He then turned to Nimbalo. The tattooed otter didn't know much about healing, but he knew that the arrows had to be removed, and the wounds dressed. In doing so, he realized that they where darts, not arrows, and now that he thought about it, the weasels had had no bows.  
  
Tagg then placed his friend on his own cloak** by the warming fire. The harvest mouse hadn't woken.  
  
The otter's senses where on the alert, so he knew that a weasel was watching them from the edge of the clearing; not by seeing her, but by scent.  
  
Tagg acted like he was oblivious to her presence; he lay down next to the harvest mouse by the fire, curling around Nimbalo to protect his friend with his own body. However, one paw was grasping the hilt of Sawney's blade. . .  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Alysoun-the-fleet had had a hard time keeping up with the otter; a first for her. She had to rely on tracking the stranger's scent for a while, until she'd discovered his temporary camp.  
  
The weasel had hovered around the edges of the clearing, watching, listening. . . and waiting. Finally, the otter seemed to have fallen asleep.  
  
Alysoun stealithy crept into the camp, observing. She decided to get a good look at the otter himself. She was a silent as she'd ever been, sneeking up behind the prone otter.  
  
A few paw steps away, she was suddenly on the ground. The otter hadn't in fact been sleeping, judging by the quick action of his rudder, and the fact that he was now on top of her, his dagger blade tickling her throat.  
  
~Hmm. . . bit of a cliffhanger, isn't it? Sorry this chapter is so short, because *insert random excuse* The next one will be longer. . . I hope. I'll try to update later this week. If you like stories with Tagg, please read some of my other fics! Oh, and please leave a review. If you do, I'll be so happy!~  
  
**This cloak, the one he received from the vole family, is going to have some minor significance later in the story, and we'll just say that he didn't loose it in the snake-cave incident, capiche? 


	4. Trussed Up Weasels And Really Bad Healin...

~Yet another chapter! I assume you are enjoying it so far. . . if you weren't, I doubt you'd be reading this chapter. ^^ Anyways, here it is! ~  
  
"Why are you here?" Tagg snarled at his captive. "Come to finish off Nimbalo, eh?"  
  
Alysoun shook her head. "I'm here because Sylver asked me to come." The otter raised his eyebrows.  
  
"Why don't you kill me then?" The weasel asked. Really, she was scared out of her wits, but if she'd been captured by someone else, say Magellan*, Alysoun knew that she'd be dead right now. The weasel was curious to know why she wasn't.  
  
The otter shook his head. "I'm not a killer. . . that's the vermin way out." Without taking his eyes off his captive, he securely tied her up with a long piece of cord.  
  
"Why do you call us vermin? We are perfectly respectable mustlids. . . well, out law mustlids. . . but still! We are not vermin. . ."  
  
Tagg frowned whenever the weasel said mustlid; he had no idea what it meant, but he wasn't about to ask her.  
  
The otter sighed and ran a paw over his heavily tattooed face. "You know very well what vermin means, weasel. Vermin are rats, stoats, weasels, ferrets, foxes and other sly, murderous creatures."  
  
Alysoun was miffed at being classed with rats and stoats, and was about to say as such when the harvest mouse began to stir by the fire. "Tagg?" ** Nimbalo called hoarsely, and began to shiver.  
  
The otter gave Alysoun a murderous glance at where she lay trussed up, and walked over to his friend. "Shh, mate. Tagg's here." The otter said as he stroked Nimbalo's forehead, who calmed down.  
  
Alysoun was shocked. The harvest mouse had actually spoken! Then, an immediate feeling of guilt enveloped her, for if he was indeed an intelligent being, and he died of the wounds that she and her companions had given him, she really was what the otter had called her; vermin.  
  
"Wot 'appened, mate?" asked Nimbalo, his breathing erratic.  
  
"Well, remember 'ow we split up t'look for Redwall?" The harvest mouse nodded, painfully. "Y'where ambushed by weasels. . . threw some darts. I captured an inquisitive one. She's over there." The otter nodded towards the rope-wreathed form of Alysoun.  
  
"Cowards." Nimbalo spat. "Couldn't take me one on one, eh, mate?"  
  
During this conversation, Alysoun had been listening intently to her surroundings. She knew that the rest of Sylver's band where approaching. She had also been listening to the conversation of her captors, and felt that she now had to speak out.  
  
"Cowards?" she called. "We aren't cowards. We hunt because we need food, unlike the stoats, who hunt and kill for amusement and profit."  
  
Nimbalo sat up, slowly, wincing, and told her. "Well, this's one meal ye ain't going to get, vermin."  
  
"We didn't know that you where an intelligent being. All of the mice around here are incapable of thought. If we'd known, we'd never have attacked you." Alysoun paused. "If I could speak with my band, I'm sure that our healer, Wodehead, would gladly heal you. I see that you aren't much of a healer, otter."  
  
Tagg snorted at this implication, even though it was entirely true; he had next to no healing skills. Still, what could he do? They where lost in a strange land. . . the weasels seemed honorable enough. . . and Nimbalo did need medical attention.  
  
The tattooed otter nodded slowly and cut through the bonds on her forelimbs. "Call your friends."  
  
Alysoun put a paw to her mouth and gave an ear-splitting whistle. Immediately, seven weasels, including a tiny finger-weasel, entered the clearing. Their leady, the marked weasel Sylver, bow to Tagg and Nimbalo and spoke.  
  
"We hard all that was said, and we apologize." He beckoned to a weasel. "This is Wodehead, our magician and healer"  
  
The said weasel then went to work on a silent and surly Nimbalo. The weasels sat themselves down by the fire. Tagg seemed a giant in comparison to them; a monolith compared to the finger weasel.  
  
Sylver introduced himself and his band, and afterwards, inquired of his name. "I am Tagg; known to most vermin as Taggerung, the mighty warrior. My friend is Nimbalo the Slayer." Tagg proceeded to tell of his adventures.  
  
In turn, as promised, Sylver explained about the situation on Welkin, and their band's quest to find the humans and bring them back, to repair the dykes. ***  
  
After all was said, Sylver spoke to both Nimbalo and Tagg, speaking for the whole band. "We would like to invite you to join our group, at least until you find your way to this 'Redwall' place." All of the weasels around the fire nodded eagerly.  
  
The otter glanced at his harvest mouse friend, who nodded in affirmation. The tattooed otter smiled his acceptance and shook the offered paw. "We promise to 'elp in any way we can in your quest, and to protect our newfound comrades against the Stoat threat."  
  
The otter glanced around. "I feel that it's my first duty as a member of yore band to inform you of the fact that there seems t'be a large group of Stoats coming this way."  
  
All heads turned in the direction that Tagg pointed, just as the first stoat soldier appeared in a gap in between two trees.  
  
*Magellan was a mercenary fox, without any distinguishable mercy. He was the bane of weasels everywhere; slaughtering small villages when the mood took him.  
  
**Yes, I know this bit is way out of character. . . almost all my fics have scenes where one of the main characters is ill, mainly because you can get quite a lot of dialogue in, and they're great for bringing out the true feelings of the characters. ^^  
  
***The main mission of the weasel band is to bring back the humans to repair the dykes surrounding the island. If they aren't repaired, then the sea will rush in, flooding the entire island, resulting in everybeast drowning. They have been temporarily repaired, but dykes need human hands to be released from the threat of springing rather large leaks.  
  
~All right. . . what do you think? Please, please review, or I'll set my paintball-gun-wielding-twin-sister on you! *points to a really evil-looking x-silver-saffire-x, who is currently aiming a paintball gun at you* If anything needs clarifying, please tell me so, and I'll explain in the next chapter. Oh, and I apologize for Tagg and Nimbalo's horrifying bad accents. . . *whines* I tried, I really did. . .~ 


	5. Laughable Teeth Clicking & Easily Captur...

~Yet another chapter. . . Thank you, all those who reviewed! I'm so glad people like my fic! *is happy* Oh, and a few new characters are mentioned:~  
  
Prince Poynt: Male Stoat. Technically King of all Welkin. He is Ermine, refuses to change to brown after winter, so his fur is always white, aside from the black tip of his tail. He doesn't like to be called 'King' because when his brother was king, he was assassinated, and to his thinking, if he isn't 'king', then he won't be killed off. He isn't too intelligent.  
  
Falshed, Sheriff: Male Stoat. Second in command to Prince Poynt, and is in charge of the army. He has a burn mark on his white 'bib' from an earlier encounter with Sylver and his band.  
  
~Anyways. . . here's the chapter!~  
  
The weasels had been caught unawares. They quickly surrounded the Stoat, and with practiced ease, bound and gagged him. They did the same with the next soldier, slinging him on the ground afterwards next to the other soldier.  
  
The Stoats where out of their element in the forest terrain; they where more used to evicting old jill weasels from their village homes than trekking about the woods at night.  
  
Soon, there was a total of a dozen Stoat soldiers lying on the ground. The last Stoat remained un-gagged; he had what seemed to be a burn mark on his otherwise perfectly white bib.  
  
As soon as he was captured, that Stoat immediately turned his head to Tagg, who had been sitting by the fire with Nimbalo, watching with a bit of amusement at how easily the stoats had been apprehended.  
  
"Hey, otter!" the stoat said in a slightly hushed voice. Tagg looked at him, seemingly with little interest. "Why don't you hand these weasels over to me? You'll get a large reward. . . You can handle a few weasels, can't you? You're not part of the notorious Sylver's band, are you?"  
  
The tattooed otter shook his head slightly at the folly of the Stoat soldier, and said to him. "I don't associate with vermin." He thought that that'd end their short 'conversation', but the stoat interpreted his headshake almost as an affirmation that Tagg was on the stoat side, and whispered with a quick click of his teeth,  
  
"Come and untie me then." The otter shook his head and, again, said, "I don't associate with vermin." The weasels teeth clicked* merrily at those words.  
  
Nimbalo burst into a long laugh, and all the teeth clicking immediately stopped. "What's wrong, Nimbalo?" Wodehead asked quietly. "I've never heard that sound before. . . are you ill?"  
  
To the shock of the Stoats, the harvest mouse shrugged off the magician's inquiring paw and spoke. "I laughed. Wot's wrong wit' that, eh?"  
  
Tagg had figured it out and gave a quiet chuckle. "Nimbalo. . . they don' laugh. Funny as it seems, they click their teeth!" His chuckle turned into booming laughter. "In all my seasons in the Juska clan, I've never 'eard of teeth clickin' afore!"  
  
After he was through laughing, the otter looked at the Stoat soldiers pensively. "Now. . . wot t'do with you. . ." He turned to Sylver. "Wot d'you think?"  
  
The marked weasel thought for a moment, then said in a mocking voice. "I think we should return them to Prince Poynt. . . He does need his soldiers. . ." The outlaw band conferred in a huddle, out of the hearing of their prisoners.  
  
"I have an idea. . ." Nimbalo spoke. "Y'said that the Prince lives in a castle, right? Well, let's bring 'em there in style!" The harvest mouse quickly outlined his plan, which was met with a lot of appreciative teeth clicking at the cleverness.  
  
Tagg and Nimbalo, along with Miniver and Mawk-the-doubter, stayed behind to guard their prisoners while the rest of the band went to get 'supplies' from the nearby Thistle Hall.  
  
After about an hour, the weasels returned, each laden down with a fore- armful of brightly coloured cloths.  
  
Sylver holding what seemed to be a large book, made out of wood. He set this down in front of the soldiers, who shrank back involuntarily in apprehension.  
  
The book-like box opened with a smooth click, and the contents where revealed to the Stoats.  
  
*Remember. . . they don't laugh, they click their teeth. Sorry if I forgot to mention this in one of my earlier chapters. . . I'm too lazy to go look to see if I did. -_-;  
  
~A bit of a cliffhanger for you! ^^ The next chapter is going to be a bit. . . humorous, but don't worry, it's just for that chapter. . . the chapter after that will be back to 'normal'. Oh, and please tell me of any spelling errors. . . I hate those little buggers! _ If you have a story that you think I'd like, please recommend it to me! Oh, yes, please, please review! ~ 


	6. Nimbalo Looks Sinister In Mahogany

~This chapter is supposed to be a bit humorous. . . it just shows off Nimbalo's wonderful personality! I couldn't really write this chapter seriously, either. O_o Don't worry, chapter seven will be back to the ol' General gender. Oh, and by the way, the Un-Gagged Stoat is Sheriff Falshed, who, even though his personality isn't endearing, is my favorite Welkin Weasel character, so I haven't tortured him at all. . . yet. *brightly* Enjoy the chapter! ~  
  
Face paints. Dozens of different shades, from the deepest black to the palest white.  
  
"What's that for?" Asked the un-gagged stoat, a tad nervously.  
  
"To paint your face with, dear sheriff." Miniver told him sweetly. There was a pause.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"You'll find out soon enough!" the finger weasel clicked her teeth in a giggle.  
  
One by one, the weasels stood the stoats, covering them with brightly clashing, colorful clothes, completely covering their uniforms.  
  
Once 'clothed', Nimbalo and Miniver painted outrageous symbols and designs all over the stoat's gagged faces, the two 'artists' teeth clicking and giggling all the while like dibbuns. After the stoat's ordeal (in their opinion), the band dressed themselves up, although with less face paint and matching clothes.  
  
"All right, mates, wot say we put'm through their paces, eh?" Nimbalo was swathed in a large mahogany sheet, which covered his entire body, effectively masking his bandages and his otherwise conspicuous tail.  
  
The harvest mouse bared his teeth in a grin at the stoats and said one word: "Summersaults."  
  
The soldiers looked at each other in confusion. The mouse sighed and looked wordlessly to Tagg. The otter did a run-up* and speedily executed a perfect summersault. Nimbalo cocked an eyebrow at the stoats and repeated, "Summersault."  
  
Miniver nudged the un-gagged stoat's back, saying with a click of her teeth, "Come on, Sheriff!" The stoat tried to stop his fall, but, surprisingly, he did a very well done summersault.  
  
"Come on, mates!" urged Nimbalo. "The sooner y'do it, the sooner your paint comes off!" This motivated the stoats, and they began to do a few tentative summersaults. They didn't do nearly as well as the Sheriff did.  
  
After half an hour of trying, the soldiers summersault skills seemed to satisfy Nimbalo. He paced in front of them regally, and addressed them.  
  
"Ye are all prob'ly wonderin' why you need to learn this. . ." The stoats where silent. He stopped walking and glared at each in turn, who all nodded vigorously.  
  
The mouse resumed pacing. "We're going to return you t'the Prince." All the stoats glanced at each other in relief.  
  
"But," Nimbalo continued, more sinister. "We've decided to 'ave a bit of fun first." The soldiers didn't like the look on Nimbalo's face at all. They where imagining scenes of torture, drowning perhaps; none would put it past the strange talking mouse.  
  
But the reality, in the stoat soldiers' opinion, was much worse.  
  
*Sorry for the poor terminology. . . I haven't been in gymnastics for four or five years, and I'm not sure what the proper terms are. .  
  
~Sneak peek of next chapter! The Band with their Stoat *cough* Prisoners *cough* arrive at the Prince's castle, and put on a *special* presentation for Prince Poynt! I'll try to have the next chapter out in less than a week. . . in the meantime, why not click that little 'review' button down there? Please? Or, if you have time on your hands, why not read some of my other fics? I've written several Redwall fics, all of them so far in the Taggerung time-line. See you soon. . . I hope. ~ 


	7. An Itsy Bitsy

. . . Author's note.  
  
~Alright, I'm sure you'll think this is terribly cruel, putting this up. This is an author's note, disguised as a real chapter! Esspecially with the chapter title *points to chapter title* ~  
  
~*sigh* Sorry to do this to you guys. . . I have a bit of a writer's block, combined with the fact that I'm a very lazy monkey. :P I hope to have the next chapter out in a week or two, meanwhile, why not read one of my other fics? *advertises shamelessly* There are a few really good fics under my favourite stories bit too, if you're borred and desperate for a good read. . .~  
  
~Anyways, hope to see you soon! And please don't be too mad at me for this pathetic 'chapter' imitation. . . ~ 


	8. Fashion Designers & Quite A Few Somersau...

~Ok, first off, I'd like to apologize for taking so long to get this out. . . Fanfiction wouldn't let me log in 'till the 19th, but I updated as soon as I could! ~  
  
~Oh, and there are a few more characters mentioned:~  
  
Sleek: Male otter. Is the personal fashion designer of Princess Sibliline. Favorite colour is Orange. . . and he makes it well known. Is obsessed with his work with different fabrics and colours.  
  
Sibiline, Princess: Female stoat. Is Prince Poynt's sister.  
  
Pom-Pom: Male Weasel. Is the only regular Weasel member of the Prince's court. Enjoys battering any lowly mustlid with his mouse-bladder on a stick.  
  
~Anyways. . . here's the next chapter.~  
  
Sheriff Falshed fumed silently under his breath as he did what he thought was the thousandth summersault that hour.  
  
'When will this humiliation end?'  
  
The weasels had finally given him a gag, so he couldn't voice his complaints. Unfortunately for him, it was made from a part of Scirf's old tunic, and was encrusted lightly with ancient dung from his old profession. The sheriff wrinkled his nose at the thought. *  
  
The band of weasels had been driving him and his soldiers all morning, making them summersault all the way to their destination.  
  
Soon, Castle Rayn came into sight: a combined groan and cheer came from the stoats, slightly muffled from the gags. A cheer because they were nearly home, but a groan as the weasel's made no move to remove either their costumes or the gags.  
  
The talking mouse was skipping along in the front of the group, playing a cheerful tune on a reed pipe. This music was different from the reedy weasel folk songs; **it was fuller in both sound and spirit.  
  
The curiously painted otter was at the back of the group, under the pretence of a strong-jack***, carrying a large boulder of his shoulders that the sheriff was quite sure that four of his soldiers couldn't budge. Still, the otter managed to keep up, even threatening the stoats somewhat that if they lagged behind, he'd drop the boulder on their backs.  
  
When they approached the castle gates, the sheriff thought that the gate guards would realize their plight, or at least recognize his *stately* self. But the guards admitted the group with various teeth-clickings to the other soldiers patrolling the battlements, calling that entertainment had arrived for the prince.  
  
The group paraded through the streets, to the front gate of the castle. They entered the throne room to much applauding; the stoat aristocrats of the prince's court where all assembled.  
  
The weasels prodded the stoats into synchronized, er. . . somersaulting; in different patterns to the cheerful tune of Nimbalo's flute.  
  
The weasel band, meanwhile, where rhythmically swaying in a form of Weasel dance to the same music.  
  
Soon, the song was done, and the weasels danced to the front door.  
  
All according to the plan.  
  
This left Tagg and companion, as well as all the stoats, in the throne room.  
  
The otter addressed the prince, using a fake accent, as he set down the boulder with a *thump* that reverberated around the room. Any of the stoat aristocrats who'd originally believed the stone on his shoulders to the be fake immediately squashed their opinions.  
  
"Oh, mighty Prince," Tagg said with a bow. "My companions and I have traveled far to your courts to give you this presentation.  
  
Here Nimbalo continued with a flourishing bow. "We hope that you 'ave enjoyed thyselves,"  
  
Here, Prince Poynt clicked his teeth; his overly-large belly shook. "Indeed I have, performers. You're a better jester than my own Pom-Pom!"  
  
At this comment, a normally cheerful looking weasel in jester attire emerged from behind the Prince's throne with a glower on his face.  
  
Nimbalo grinned at this. "For sure, good Prince! But attend here! Do you recognize. . ." here he paused dramatically, "IThis/I stoat?"  
  
With this comment, the harvest mouse swiftly tore off the colourful material that covered the sheriff's uniform, removing the gag as he did so.  
  
The prince studied the uniform and painted face of the stoat with a dim look in his eyes.  
  
"Indeed, I don't." he said finally.  
  
"Prince Poynt! It's me, your loyal second in command, Sheriff Falshed!"  
  
"Why are you a jester then?" the Prince asked stupidly.  
  
The sheriff gave a sigh. "Thy soldiers and I where captured by the weasel Sylver's band, as well as this otter and his-" the prince cut him off.  
  
"What?! There aren't any weasel's here!" His sister whispered in his ear, and after a minute, he nodded slowly.  
  
"Guards! Seize the painty-faced otter and that. . ." The ermine stoat squinted at Nimbalo. "Thing." He finished.  
  
His sister again whispered into his ear. "Oh," he added. "And you might as well untie the other soldiers while you're at it."  
  
During these orders, Tagg ran to Nimbalo and handed the harvest mouse his battleaxe, which had been concealed on the otter's back, under the silks.  
  
Pom-Pom then joyfully descended on Nimbalo and Tagg, battering them with his beloved mouse-bladder on a stick.  
  
Fortunately for the two, but not for the jester, all of the guards where all on the ramparts outside, out of hearing and sight.  
  
Tagg swiftly drew Sawney's blade and popped the jester's 'pride and joy'. Nimbalo growled at the weasel, baring his incisors at the deflated looking jester, who was staring dumbly at his even more deflated looking 'balloon'.  
  
The otter ignored the weasel's expression, and appealed to the Prince; he was in no mood to slay dozy guards. . . it just wasn't a part of the plan.  
  
"Hear us out, oh Prince. Your soldiers have come to no harm, all we wish is to have a place to live for a while. . ." After a pause, he added, ". . . in freedom." The weasels had warned him about the nature of the Prince; knowing him, he'd imprison them in the dungeons and expect them to thank him for it.  
  
The Prince Sneered at him. "And if I choose to just send you to the dungeons? What of that?" Nimbalo raised his eyebrows.  
  
"Let us just say that that would be a very . . . difficult task for your sun-lazed guards. If they would attempt to do so, we would slay many of them, I believe, before they would succeed in detaining us." The mouse gave his ax an experimental swish, and his companion licked his dagger blade menacingly.  
  
"Point taken." The Prince said, and with an unusual amount of understanding (for him)m he ordered, "You may have a room, but you mustn't leave the castle walls, neither will you kill any stoats." Tagg noticed that he said nothing of weasels, but didn't comment.  
  
"Also, I would like you to put on an act, every week at an appointed time, for my entertainment. Do you agree to the terms?"  
  
Tagg bowed, and motioned for Nimbalo to do so as well. "Thank you, Prince." The otter said graciously.  
  
Princess Sibiline again whispered in her brother's ear. The ermine prince pointed to an immaculately dressed young otter among the stoat aristocrats.  
  
"Sleek, you are to show these two around the castle and it's grounds. Dismissed." He ordered. Sleek nodded and motioned for Nimbalo and Tagg to follow him.  
  
Once they were safely away from the castle, up on the ramparts, away from the guards, he spoke to them excitedly.  
  
"That was brilliant, the way you brought in those stoat soldiers. . . just brilliant. I'm Sleek, by the way, the Official Fashion designer of Princess Sibliline, and all of Castle Rayn. How do you do?" Tagg smiled at the younger otter's enthusiasm.  
  
In fact, Sleek wasn't much younger than Tagg himself, it was just the tattooed otter's size that made it seem that way.  
  
"Pleased t'meet you, I'm sure. My name's Tagg, an' this is my matey Nimbalo the Slayer."  
  
Sleek raised an eyebrow at this. "The Slayer? That's an odd na-" he was interrupted by the harvest mouse, who had bared his teeth. "It's m'name. . . is that a problem?" The younger otter shook his head, but stared at the teeth.  
  
"You're teeth are incredibly rodent-like. . . If I may ask, what kind of mustlid are you?"  
  
Nimbalo snorted and looked away. "Inquisitive young type, ain't you? I ain't no mustlid. I'm an 'arvest mouse. Always was, always will be."  
  
Sleek's already surprised eyes widened even further. "What? What do you mean?"  
  
Tagg was uncomfortable with the situation, "We're not from around here." He said shortly.  
  
The younger otter seemed to accept this. Then, he noticed Tagg's cloak. ****  
  
"What's that made of?" he pointed.  
  
"This?" Tagg asked, surprised. "I'm not quite sure. . . some friends gave it to me for my travels. . . it's waterproof, an' it doubles as a coracle sail.  
  
"Fascinating. . ." he muttered sincerely. "What's that made of?" the younger otter pointed to Tagg's rough kilt.  
  
The tattooed otter shrugged. "It's just barkcloth, dyed red. Nothing more."  
  
Apparently is wasn't nothing more, not to Sleek anyway. The young fashion designer took a deep breath, preparing for a barrage of questions, but Nimbalo interrupted him with a paw pointed at the horizon.  
  
"'Scuze me, mates, but what the _______***** is that?" Tagg glanced over, and did a double take.  
  
The hills of the horizon where completely covered in swarms of marsh rats. . . armed to the teeth.  
  
To be continued. . .  
  
*Aww. . . poor Falshed. . . He really is my favorite Welkin Weasel character. ^^ Remember, you'd be pretty irritable too after doing what he's been through.  
  
**Weasel folk songs are traditionally high and screechy-sounding, and I can't tell you more than that. It explains this somewhere in the books, but I can't find where right now, and I'm too lazy to spend more than 30 seconds looking. -_-; Just take my word for it, ok?  
  
***Remember, as I mentioned before, Jack = Man, so strong-jack = strong- man. . . got it?  
  
****You know, that cloak that he got from the vole family, that doubled as a coracle sail? That cloak.  
  
*****By the way. . . how does Nimbalo swear? I know that otters are like "By the Roarin' River!" and hedgehogs are something like "By the spikes and stickles", or something. . . But I've no clue how mice swear. . . do they even swear at all? O_o  
  
~And so ends another chapter. . . my longest yet, I think. I'm not going to be updating any of my fics for nearly a week, (although that's nothing new), but I have a valid excuse this time! I'm going to be on a four day band trip to British Columbia, and unfortunately, we're not allowed to bring laptops and/or modems/internet cables. :( I'll write lots though, and I'm going to finish off Tammia Windfur for sure! (I think. . . hope. . .) Well, why don't you read some of my fics, or eve my sister's in the meantime? Please? Oh, and review. . . I'd like some encouragement. ~ 


	9. Yet Another Authors Note

~This is a little author's note . . not another chapter. I've noticed that very little people are actually interested in this fic. I've decided to take it down, so I can work on my other one/ ones without feeling guilty about not finnishing this one. I'm thinking of starting a Lilo & Stitch fic, so look for that in my userlookup sometime soon. ^^ So. . . I'll be taking this down in a few days unless I get several reviews saying not to. . . Capiche? Good. ~ 


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